


stones we swallow in our sleep

by sonderwrit



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Ancient China, Canonical Character Death, Chess, Drabble Collection, Fate Week 2021, Gen, Historical References, Introspection, Light Angst, Northern Qi Dynasty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonderwrit/pseuds/sonderwrit
Summary: A collection of Prince of Lanling (Saber) centric drabbles for Fate Week 2021.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 1: memory
> 
> we remember what was, and never what is.

He remembers his mother, but no—that is a lie. 

He remembers the ones who act as mothers—the nursemaid with her soft soothing voice, the meals in lacquered bowls and plates, the coal-hot stove that keeps out the northern chill. There is the rustle of skirts and slippers whenever he wakes, eats, or sleeps; the bowed heads of servant girls adorned with glittering trinkets that twinkle and twitter like stars. Sometimes they speak to him, always with smiles and words of praise: how beautiful he looks, how much like this and that flower or perhaps, the moon itself.

Children are supposed to resemble their mothers, he knows this, and sons even more so; he wonders if his is amongst the beauties of the garden, whose petals yield such sweet perfumes when he presses upon their leaves. Maybe Mother is up in the Moon Palace with the goddess herself, smiling at him benevolently every clear, cloudless night.

No one answers when he asks; indeed, they seem not to even hear. Perhaps they do not understand him, and so he bends his head to his books, hoping to gleam answers from those who know much yet speak little. At the age of ten he is praised for his genius—such elegant calligraphy! Such perfect recall of the classics! Yet even reciting the poems of the [ Orchid Pavilion ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orchid_Pavilion_Gathering) does little to stir the mouths of the birds, the blossoms, or whatever else the loose-lipped servants liked to compare him with in each passing season.

On his eleventh birthday, a servant lets slip that his mother is dead. It’s not one from his own court, but a disgruntled spare from a lady who has fallen out of favor. Perhaps the slave chafes at serving the son of a mere _commoner wretch,_ but Changgong holds his temper to get what he needs: an unmarked hill some distance outside the capital, hidden beyond a grove of trees.

The pear blossoms are already falling from the branches when he has his first and last meeting with his mother’s remains. He fancies the flowers are her way of greeting him, for the farmers say they always bloom most vibrantly here where the unwanted bodies feed the fertile soil.

He chooses to forget, in that instant, that pear blossoms have only ever foretold of partings.

The scent of their petals might have passed by his pillow in sleep; a butterfly could have copied their dance as they tossed about on the wind. Eleven years of separation may very well have been silent companionship from a spirit dead but not gone, lurking in the next flash of sunlight, sigh of leaves. Madness takes him for a moment as he considers uprooting the trees and bringing them home—to sing them songs and show off his swordsmanship, to share with them the thoughts and dreams he had stored away for her all these years.

But that is only the blood of his late father speaking, and while men of the Gao Clan are a hotheaded lot, his mother had been quiet and sensible. No woman so humble and yet so breathtaking could have made the choice to leave the palace without a murmur to rest at this overgrown hill. Perhaps it was those actions that left him a place in court, where even as a motherless prince he was tolerated and treated with respect.

He prays to the earth and shares his silent thoughts with the wind. When he leaves the flowers that spring, he brings back a resolution from the dusty bones beneath them.

 _Motherland,_ the scholars call it. Home of one’s ancestors, hearth to one’s soul. A country, an empire, a nation of one people. A place to keep one’s heart and bury it in the soil after death.

Gao Changgong’s mother is gone, but her lands and people still live and her son is their protector. He rises until he is a general among men, leading them to victory even against impossible odds. 

“We’ll charge the city gates,” he says, and 500 cavalrymen overtake 100,000 strong at Jinyong.

“If you had suffered a military reverse, it would be too late to regret,” the emperor chides back.

“I am responsible for our family affairs,” he answers, because kingdom and kin are one.

The emperor replies with a gift of poisoned wine.

—

It is summer when he sets the wine on the table before a fond and final friend. She calls him incomprehensible and he can’t help but smile. Perhaps he was angry once, but what use was the fury of a dying man? Maybe if he had been angrier sooner, this ending would have never come to pass.

“In fact, I might be the one who should beg for your forgiveness,” he tries to end things gently. “The peace and rest that I shall entrust my body to from now on… That is something that you can never have, no matter how much you wish for it.”

“Perhaps, I am jealous.” Her eyes drift from him to the full cup. “Of the death that you are about to reach, and of the dazzling life you had before you reached it.”

“These words are wasted on me. I do not truly know and understand death. Even if I do come to enlightenment, everything will already be in darkness.”

“In the end, do you have anything you wish for?” 

“Well then. If I may be allowed a wish, at the end of what comes after death, if there is any hope for a connection to be made… Someday, somewhere, I would like to encounter you once more… fufu, what absurdly ludicrous nonsense these words are.”

Because to live after one’s death is to return to the past, a time already beyond his reach. It is comforting, though, to think of her as a pause in time, standing still and beautiful even as the world races by. 

Northern Qi will not last long after his passing—its courtiers are too weak, its emperor too suspicious. Its country is lacking as well—merely a child, willful and young, whom he indulged and served while treating it as his better.

For the last time in his life, Gao Changgong realizes his mother is well and truly dead.

He takes the cup and drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical rambling stuff:
> 
> Of all of Gao Cheng's sons, Gao Changgong is the only one without a recorded name for his mother. Historians theorize it was likely due to her low birth status. Considering the messy family politics of the Gao clan and her son's extraordinary looks, it is unlikely a humble woman of such beauty herself (hey, nobody ever praised Gao's father as a drop dead gorgeous man) would have survived long in the royal court.
> 
> A few other theories exist as candidates for Gao's mother, but for this drabble I chose the simplest one and took some creative liberties. :)
> 
> Work title quoted from _The Anatomy of Being_ by Shinji Moon. Translated quote credits from [Wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gao_Changgong) and via [taiboo on reddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/FGOGuide/comments/a1jzwy/lostbelt_3_qin_section_1_summary/)


	2. war games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: defeat/victory
> 
> you craft your own victories just as you choose your own defeats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> torn between using saber/lanling/GCC, i went "heck this" and just used gao

“A river in the middle of the board… Although I understand it represents an obstacle on the battlefield, is it not stale challenging the same roadblock time after time?” The Prince of Lanling examines the diagram in his hands, a printed specimen of lines and grids.

“A river can be many things,” his opponent answers easily. “Here it is merely a physical barrier, but in war we could equate it to all sorts of inconveniences: inadequate supplies, undertrained soldiers, or whatever manner of problem it is that slows an army down.”

Gao Changgong sets down the instruction sheets with a sigh. “I’m afraid my imagination isn’t quite so vast.”

“Ah but you see, that is why you are the general and I, the strategist.” With a smile bordering on smirk, Chen Gong finishes setting up the pieces and invites Gao to the table. “Please.”

The Saber bows and takes his seat, carefully surveying the battleground before him. They are playing a new game in the art of war—new for them, as its final form was perfected in a dynasty beyond their deaths. [ _Xiangqi_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xiangqi) is the name, though none of the pieces resemble the elephants from its namesake. In truth, Gao thinks to himself, no horses or soldiers _that_ smooth and round would last long in the field, either.

But that is why people play games—for amusement, not facts.

It takes a few practice rounds before both are confident enough to fight in earnest. The goal is simple: capture the enemy’s general while maneuvering around a battlefield that include a river and two opposing palaces. Playing red means Gao moves first, and he quickly positions an Elephant piece in the central column. In response, Chen Gong maneuvers a Cannon into the same spot for his side.

“So you’ve chosen a classic opening move,” the Caster remarks thoughtfully.

“It’s better to trust in prior experience when learning to lead new troops,” the Saber replies. “Besides, haven’t you done the same thing?”

Chen Gong laughs. “How can I outwit the tactics of my predecessors without understanding them thoroughly first? Although in this case, I suppose ‘successors of the later generation’ is more appropriate.”

“One cannot run before one learns to walk,” Gao agrees diplomatically as he advances one of his Horses—another classic move used to guard against cannons.

“I will warn you now—implementing expected patterns is a superb method for hiding alternative tactics,” Chen Gong points out.

“Are you offering advice to your enemy?” Even beneath his mask, Gao’s arched brow and widened gaze is obvious.

“Perhaps it is the—what do they call it?—’occupational habit’ of a former strategist,” Chen Gong suggests. “Or maybe I am lulling you into a false sense of expectation, all the better to strike you down later.”

Gao Changgong shakes his head. “No strategist I know shares his secrets so freely with the other side,” he disagrees. “You’re suggesting possibilities so that I stand a better chance of outwitting you on the field. Only then will the game be challenging enough to amuse you.”

“You have a keen nose for detecting personal intentions, Prince of Lanling,” Chen Gong does not deny the accusation. “As expected from a leader who reads the hearts of men.”

“Reading hearts is useless if one cannot change them,” Gao almost sighs, but bites back the action at the last moment.

“Indeed. That’s a task best left to statesmen and poets,” Chen Gong places another piece. “We are men of action, after all. Your turn!”

Their dance around the field continues. _Xiangqi_ is a fire that builds and burns quickly, and Chen Gong is the first to light the match. With brutal ease, he allows his opponent to take one of his Horses so he can break through enemy ranks. Gao raises another eyebrow—such pieces were supposed to be strong attacking agents in the endgame, but they were only 13 moves in.

“Fuh, it was a necessary sacrifice,” Chen Gong reads his expression and smiles.

After that, it was an all-out assault. With the opening offered by his pawn, Chen Gong advances across the river and starts pressuring Changgong’s flank. The Saber quickly moves to check him, but the Caster never relents. Soon enough, he sacrifices more players: a Chariot and Cannon, both formidable pieces.

“There are only 16 pieces per person,” Gao feels compelled to remind him as the dead pile up.

“You of all people should know that quality triumphs quantity,” Chen Gong replies smoothly as he advances his sole surviving Cannon.

Without a word, Gao reinforces the guards around his palace before sending both of his Chariots into Chen Gong’s territory. That is as far as he gets, because an enemy Chariot slips into his borders as well, supported by a Soldier piece that keeps his own forces pinned. Meanwhile, the sole Cannon has somehow worked its way into the back of Gao’s palace, forcing his General to stand behind his Advisor and men to avoid being killed.

It takes all of Gao’s ingenuity to maneuver around the manufactured death trap hemming him in. Eventually Chen Gong makes a move that places his Cannon right in front of Gao’s General while his Chariot threatens him from the sidelines.

“What’s wrong?” Chen Gong asks when Gao visibly frowns.

“In order to avoid your Chariot, I have to move my General,” Gao mutters back. “But that means capturing your Cannon to take its space.”

“I should think that’s a good thing,” Chen Gong feigns innocence.

“Not when my opponent’s the one deciding my moves,” Gao retorts, but eliminates the Cannon anyways. Once the General leaves his spot, his Advisor is exposed, and Chen Gong’s Chariot summarily runs him over.

“An acceptable loss, in your case,” the Caster consoles merrily. “There is always more than one tactician in an army.”

Grimly, Gao pulls a Cannon to his side. Still cheerful, Chen Gong summons his second Chariot all the way from the backlines—because there is now no Advisor to bar its way. Although the two pieces are outnumbered by red ones, the rest of Gao’s allies are too scattered to provide him with immediate aid.

“You should have been a general,” Gao exhales when he senses the end coming. “I’ve never seen someone fight so aggressively on the battlefield.”

“If that is the case, then I’ll appoint you as my strategist,” Chen Gong compliments in turn. “Your defenses were executed flawlessly.”

“Only because you forced me into a passive stance from the start,” Gao’s voice holds the mildest hint of complaint, but he soon shakes his head. “No, I miscalculated your daring, and thus you seized your chance.”

“So often do opportunities pass us by in war,” Chen Gong remarks, placing Gao’s Cannon in check with one Chariot while the other moves in for the kill. “As well as life.”

Gao Changgong stares at the board. His General stands at the very rear of his palace, directly opposite his opponent in the north. But Chen Gong’s General rests behind a veritable wall of Soldiers, Elephants, and Advisors, while his piece remains exposed. One enemy Chariot has slipped through a gap to separate him from his allies, while the second remains in a deadlock with the Cannon and blocks all escape routes.

He has only one move left, and yet it is only a choice of where to die.

Eyes narrowed, the Prince of Lanling moves his piece one space to the left. It is a better spot than falling to his knees before the enemy’s feet.

With the General defeated, Chen Gong moves his second Chariot back to knock out one of Gao’s Horses. He ends the game there, because to go any farther would simply be a spectacle for slaughter.

“I have lost,” Gao Changgong acknowledges.

“It was a fine battle,” Chen Gong leans back in his seat. 

Silence stretches between them, heavy with expectation. It is abruptly broken when Gao laughs out loud. As Chen Gong watches, the Saber takes off his mask and rests it on the board, revealing his brilliant features. Beyond the sudden influx of sparkles now blinding them both, the Caster glimpses eyes as curved as crescents and fine, smooth brows.

“Prince of Lanling, will your virtues never cease?” Chen Gong sits up and fixes his glasses, helpfully diverting stray sunbeams from his overwhelmed irises. “Few men would find themselves so happy after a defeat.”

“Even fewer men are given the chance to fight their battles to the end,” Gao Changgong replies, running his fingers fondly over his surviving pieces. “Thank you for this gift today.”

Once he lost his battle and was forced to condemn his body to death.

Today, his spirit has found solace in an eternal rest of his own making.

Chen Gong’s expression turns thoughtful before he breaks into a grin. “Then I suppose you’ve been doubly blessed.”

Gao gives him a questioning look, but Chen Gong only leans forward with a triumphant air. 

“Indeed, reading hearts can be useless if you can’t change the way they think,” the strategist goes on. “But it seems that shifting the feelings of your own heart is not an impossible task.”

“I see.” Gao’s gaze softens. “I’ve forgotten that’s the case. Your kindness is—”

“Stop there,” Chen Gong interrupts briskly. “Remember that our Master is still facing battles of their own. As contracted Servants, we cannot afford to be lax.”

“Ah?” The sudden reversal of tones leaves Gao at a loss.

“For that matter, we should discuss the game we just finished. I believe I can point out a few places of note where you might have improved—”

“Improved upon a ‘flawless defense?’” Gao asks, echoing their earlier conversation.

“Yours is the type that chafes at compliments, so of course they’d be a more effective motivator than insults,” Chen Gong continues mercilessly. “ _Parts_ of it were flawless, I’ll give you that, but no battle against the enemy would survive the accumulation of small mistakes you left here and there. And so—” The Caster pauses to pick up Gao’s mask. “—if you will set this aside somewhere, we can begin our review.”

Helpless to resist, the Saber can only take the accessory and rest it by his lap with a rueful laugh.

Before a war was won or lost, a general would keep fighting until the end.

But that was just as he liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know how hard it is to write about a game you don't play hurhur
> 
> i referenced a famous 1960s _xiangqi_ game between old masters (wang jialiang vs. hu ronghua) which you can view [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnJDq6VILxo) wang played black and decimated hu with his relentless attack strategy.
> 
> chen gong was tricky to write but oof i tried


End file.
